


After an Afternoon

by bohemeyourself



Series: The Stupid Backstory Verse [3]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-05
Updated: 2011-08-05
Packaged: 2017-10-22 06:16:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/234800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bohemeyourself/pseuds/bohemeyourself
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Honeymoon!fic. Eames and Arthur vacation in Sorrento, and Eames uses Arthur's new DSLR for a little recreational photography. Inspired by <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/eames_arthur/778540.html">this piece of art</a> by  and also <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5lSFwOQ12pQ">this song</a> by Jason Mraz</p>
            </blockquote>





	After an Afternoon

The warm breeze slowly ruffles the white curtains, getting them caught in the fading sunlight. Arthur stands at the balcony, the colorful rooftops of Sorrento as the backdrop. It’s a lazy Sunday afternoon, and the golden light of a cloudless summer sky lights the scene before Eames like a piece of art, the kind of golds and pinks and oranges any painter would be jealous of.

Eames can’t stand it. It’s cliché, he knows, but he cannot resist pulling Arthur’s camera from his bag and snagging a few photos. The thing was ridiculously expensive, a brand new digital SLR that Arthur had gifted himself with after the wedding. Eames starts clicking, moving across the room to catch the sunlight in Arthur’s hair, the casual slope of his bare shoulders as he leans against the railing. Eventually he’s close enough that Arthur hears the shutter as it opens and closes, and Arthur turns, flashing him a shy smile and Eames thinks _yes, this_.

Arthur turns fully, smile turning into a smirk as he advances on the camera. Eames retreats a few steps to capture Arthur as he turns and closes the balcony doors, the warm light catching on his neck, the curve of his waist. Eames groans when Arthur turns his face, giving the camera a sly smile, a promise.

They’ve never done this before; Arthur rarely lets himself be photographed, and for good reason. But Eames thinks he deserves this one time, at least. They are on their fucking _honeymoon_ , for Christ’s sake. Arthur stands in front of the window for a beat, thinking, and when he starts to move away, Eames lets out a hoarse “Stay there,” and then softer “for now.”

Arthur nods, once, and lets his lips part as he reaches for the button on his jeans. He undoes each button on his jeans slowly, letting the camera capture every minute detail. He turns away again to push the denim off his hips, letting them fall away and stepping out of them. Eames follows his ass with the camera to the bed, and Arthur knows just how to crawl up the bed, lazily, stretching out loose and languid over the soft white sheets.  
Arthur tucks one arm under his head, the other trailing slowly over his chest.

“What do you want?” He asks slowly, his hand stroking lightly, no clear purpose in mind yet.

“Just you, darling,” Eames has to hold in his groan as Arthur’s knees fall open to reveal his cock, flushed red and leaking already. The grin on Arthur’s lips turns into a full blown smile, and Eames zooms to catch his dimples, the soft crinkle of his eyes. Arthur whispers then, a soft “I love you” and Eames’ knees almost go weak. He can hardly believe that he’s catching this all on film, so that he can come back to this moment whenever he wants. Not that he wouldn’t revisit it in his dreams, but the fact that he corporeal evidence, that’s what makes this… so…

Arthur’s hand finally wraps around himself, and the camera catches it all, the elegant, slender fingers, blush high on his cheeks, the soft o of his mouth. The flush on his cheeks spreads as Arthur strokes himself slowly, thumb flicking over the head of his cock just the way he likes. The camera catches the bead of precum at Arthur’s slit before his hand comes up and spreads it, leaving the head glistening.

It all feels very indulgent, the way Eames is capturing this intimate moment, something that he never dreamed Arthur would allow him to do. It's very dangerous, the thought that someone could get a hold of these photos, but the danger just feuls the fire, the risk is all too appealing. He almost thinks twice, but then Arthur lets out a soft moan and Eames is reminded of just how beautiful this all is, being able to do this with his husband. (HUSBAND! His mind supplies, and Eames smiles.)

Eames comes around to the side of the bed, dropping to his knees to capture the arch of Arthur’s back, the profile of his face, the way his heels dig into the mattress. On the other side of his body, his hand is clutching the sheets, fisted tightly and wrinkling the material. The gold band catches the sunlight, and Eames zooms in on Arthur’s hands, both of them. The other is stroking fast now, almost a blur, and Arthur’s hips are pushing up into his hand.

“Eames,” He says softly, almost in a question, and Eames moans.

“Yes, darling,” He pants, and Arthur cants his hips up, up, up, and spills over his fingers. Eames wishes the camera could take video, so he could capture the way Arthur’s cock pulses, his stomach twitching with the aftershocks, so he could record the sound of his breaths, fast and hitching.

“Eames,” Arthur says again, and Eames captures one last photo. Arthur’s hand still curled around himself, the other reaching out towards the camera, curls splayed over the pillow, a small, loving smile playing at the corners of his mouth and around his eyes.

Eames sets the camera on the nightstand and crawls onto the mattress with Arthur. Arthur kisses him, hot and promising, maneuvering him onto his back and slithering down his body. It is almost inhuman, and completely indecent, the graceful way Arthur’s body moves. He nudges Eames’ knees apart to settle between them, before taking Eames’ cock into his mouth.

It was short, would be embarrassingly so if he hadn’t just watched Arthur bring himself off from behind a camera lens. Eames twists his hands into Arthur’s hair and tries not to buck up into the wet heat of his mouth. But Arthur just hums around him and takes all of him in, his free hand stroking over the soft hair on Eames’ stomach.

Arthur looks up through his lashes at Eames, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a smile, his mouth never leaves Eames' cock. The sight of Arthur, so carefree and relaxed, is something so rare that Eames almost wishes he still had the camera in hand. But then Arthur is pressing his tongue flat against the underside of Eames' cock, and _oh_. Eames reaches up and tugs on Arthur’s hair in warning, and then he’s coming down Arthur’s throat, groaning out a string of curses as Arthur licks him clean.

Arthur crawls back up Eames’ body and Eames holds him close, kissing him softly and murmuring sweet nothings in his ear. As they’re drifting, Arthur reaches over to the nightstand and snaps one last photo of them both. Eames barely registers it, and doesn’t notice it until he’s uploading all of the photos onto Arthur’s desktop.

Eames stares at it. Eames is curled around Arthur in the photo, their faces turned toward each other, eyes closed. Eames is drawn to the way Arthur’s lips are parted as if they’d just been kissed, his free hand tangled in Eames’ hair. He’s left dumbstruck for a few more moments before he prints the photo and puts it in a frame, on the mantle. He’ll think of this photo every time he thinks of Southern Italy, he’ll remember the lazy Sunday afternoon with the golden sunlight and Arthur’s pale skin.


End file.
